Devil throws me a quick glance of sympathy. “I coordinated a dual-purpose strike. To rescue Mrs Williamson who was being held against her will, and to capture her father. We were successful on the former, destroyed a large portion ofEl Procurador’s organisation, and managed to free a number of women who were being prepared to be sold. Mrs Williamson, far from being in the loving hands of her father, was being kept in inhumane circumstances, and was about to be sold as a slave herself. Her only usefulness to her father, a means to get to his son.”
The judge sends an unreadable look my way. I sigh with relief that Devil omitted to mention the drugs I’d been forced to swallow.
Without prompting from Carissa, Devil takes a sip of water, and resumes. “I made the decision it was too dangerous for Mrs Williamson to stay in Colombia. She was going to accompany me back to the US instead. I take full responsibility for that. Especially as she was shot, either by her father or one of his remaining men, when boarding the plane. An injury she would not have recovered from had I not had a medic on my team, and if two team members were not able to give blood to her during the flight. Mrs Williamson is extremely lucky to be alive today.”
Carissa goes to speak; the judge raises his hand. “Mr Deville. Where isEl Procuradornow? Were you able to take him into custody?”
Devil’s face grows dark. “We were not, Your Honour. The house and compound was equipped with a means of escape. In the confusion, he managed to get away. Where the man himself is now, we have no idea. We, as in the CIA and myself, believe he’s trying to regroup in Colombia. But serious damage hasbeen done to his organisation. There is a good chance he will place the blame for that at Mrs Williamson’s door.”
“You believe Mrs Williamson remains in danger?”
“If she returns to Colombia? Certainly, yes. And we can’t rule out more ofEl Procurador’s remaining men crossing over into the US and trying to take the boy again. From what we discovered, we were able to close a number of his pipelines, but, well, where there’s a will…”
The judge looks at the men from ICE. “Have you anything more you want to say or ask?”
“Your Honour. While we appreciate the circumstances, and that Mr Deville made the decision, the cold fact of the matter remains that having been deported, Mrs Williamson re-entered the States again as an illegal immigrant. The law says she should be deported immediately.”
“You’re trying to teach me the law?” the judge snaps. After his comment is left to echo for a moment, he turns to Carissa. “Ms Beacham. Do you have anything further to ask your witness?”
After she replies no, the judge turns to the other men. “Any questions from you?”
When the ICE representatives shake their heads, Devil returns to his seat.
The judge looks down at his notes, then back up. “In such a complicated case, I’d normally wait to deliver a written statement, and that will certainly follow. Normally Mrs Williamson would be detained in an immigration centre while I make my deliberations. Due to the number of errors in this case, I believe I can give the gist of my judgement now.”
He takes off his glasses, swinging them in his hand. First, he glares at the men from ICE. “You contend Mrs Williamson re-entered the country illegally. I contend mistakes and collusion with a foreign party within ICE caused her to be deportedprematurely. I, myself, issued instructions for her to be brought back immediately. The circumstances being as they are, I hereby waive her illegal re-entry.” He breaks off, sips water, then continues. “Mrs Williamson has presented sufficient evidence that she has a clear case for asylum in the United States. To return her to Colombia would undoubtedly be signing her death sentence, or sending her to an unknown fate which could be worse.
“I do not support the recommendation for deportation, and I would request that ICE examine the mistakes made in this case, including why Mrs Williamson was able to be deported prior to the hearing to which she was entitled, and how government officials could be bribed to turn a blind eye to a plane being diverted from its course.
“Before my learned friend in ICE gets too agitated, I would like to remind him, this immigration court can hear cases of asylum. Mrs Williamson was presented to this court, or should have been, as an illegal immigrant a few weeks ago. That she was brought here was questionable due to her DACA status. Her innocence, once proven, should have been taken into account. I am well aware a claim for asylum should be made within one year of seeking such a status in the US. I am concluding that Mrs Williamson’s asylum application should have been filed when she returned from Colombia, and that now, today, we are still well within that one year limitation.
“Mrs Williamson. You will receive my written judgement in due course, and may apply for a green card on your own merits after one year of residency.
“The application for deportation is hereby dismissed. Until such a time as she’s able to start the process towards permanent residence, Mrs Williamson now has temporary residency in the United States.”
While the judge has been delivering his judgement, I’ve been listening, but hardly able to take in what he’s saying. The only part that I’ve hung onto is that I’m not going to be deported. I’m going home. With Tse. To be with him and my brother. I stand as instructed, but my legs are shaking so much they can’t support me, and I put a hand on the bench in front of me. When it’s indicated that I can step away as a free woman, my head goes completely dizzy.
Tse’s there already, his arms supporting me.
Carissa’s passing me a glass of water, Devil’s smiling with half his face. Looking past him I see the ICE officials gathering up their paperwork. They catch my eye and both nod. They don’t seem particularly upset. It’s all in a day’s work for them. Lose some, win some, I expect, though I also suspect they’re more used to winning.
“Thank you,” I offer lamely to Carissa and Devil. “Thank you so much.”
They wave off my thanks, and then I’m walking out of the courtroom alongside my husband, my man. And stepping into my new life.
Chapter 41
Mouse
When Mariana started to stand, I saw her wobbling. I raced across that courtroom to catch her, ignoring my own shaking legs. It was hard to process what the judge had been saying. I’d been prepared to lose everything, now I had it all. I’m still a Satan’s Devil, returning to my brothers tonight. Along with my old lady.
It’s only when she’s at last in my arms that I realised the enormity of what I’d been prepared to do. I thought I understood, but deep down I hadn’t. I’m so fucking grateful she had a judge who had listened, the advantage being he’d entered the courtroom already annoyed she’d been deported before she’d had her day in court. In front of a different judge it could have been another story.So fucking grateful.
We walk out into the smoggy air of Los Angeles and I breathe it in as though it’s the freshest I’ve ever taken into my lungs. Cars moving tortuously slow are lined up around us, a sight that I welcome rather than wanting to escape from.
My arm is around her as we walk down the block to where I left the truck. She’s silent, taking her own time to let the news sink in.
Suddenly she stops. “I feel sick.”
